


She's Gone (Episode 12X03 Coda)

by WickedNerdAngel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon Universe, Coda, Comforting Castiel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode 12x03 coda, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluffy Ending, Hand Jobs, Hurt Dean Winchester, Love Confessions, M/M, Worried Sam Winchester, very brief suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 20:05:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14776389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedNerdAngel/pseuds/WickedNerdAngel
Summary: But he knows. Deep down in the recesses of that hunk of muscle he used to call a heart, he knows why she left. Way down there in that cave where he keeps all of those things, those emotions he can't let surface, he understands why she left. But he doesn't wanna do this.Not again.





	She's Gone (Episode 12X03 Coda)

**Author's Note:**

> Hoo boy, I wrote this quite some time ago, way back in the beginning of season 12. I guess better late than never on posting, right? 
> 
> **TW for brief thoughts of suicide, and self medicating with alcohol.** 
> 
> Coda for episode 12x03, The Foundry

She's Gone

(12X03 Coda)

By

WickedNerdAngel

***

Castiel sighs, his bleary, cobalt eyes surveying the dingy, greenish walls of the motel room he finds himself in. He's on the outskirts of Cleveland... somewhere. He's doesn't really care where. At the time, he just needed to stop. So the first neon vacancy sign he came across, he did just that and honestly, didn't even bother to look at the name. He doesn't care about that either. Angels aren't prone to sleep, of course, but he feels weary… defeated… again.

Lucifer.

He's so tired of that name. He's tired of being one, two, three steps behind the devil at every turn. He's tired of always trying to clean up the messes he's made. Always thinking he's helping, when in reality he's only making things worse. He's just… tired. And he feels it deep into his grace. _The road to hell is paved with good intentions._ He thinks the humans have it right. Maybe that's where he belongs. After all Lucifer isn't a devil or demon, he's an angel.  A fallen angel, just like Castiel. And he felt it. Oh, did he feel it when the archangel was possessing him. He felt their likeness so much it terrified him. And just like his older brother had told him once before, ‘I rebelled, I fell. Just like you rebelled and you fell.’

Castiel would shudder at the thought if he was human, instead he stands statuesque, his mind reeling with the fact that he was outsmarted  by a witch, a _witch_ , while working with a demon. Rowena could banish Lucifer to Marianas Trench, and he couldn't even _find_ him. Not without Crowley, and the thought of what happened the last time he'd worked with the demon, makes Castiel want to destroy the room he stands in.

Instead he pulls his phone out of his pocket, looks at it, a little bit relieved to see no calls or messages, and tosses it on the bed.  He doesn't have the burden of human necessities; there will be no teeth brushing, no shower, so he presumes the television might be a good way to pass the time. _It's too bad,_ he thinks, _they don't have Netflix._ The binging Dean taught him could come in handy tonight.

He raises his hand to flick the TV on, but pauses, glancing at the remote control. _Human technology_ . He smiles to himself at that. They really have come a long way. Pride swells in his chest, both for the humans he always watched over, and strangely enough, for being a part of them now. It's bittersweet, though, because he's not human, and he's barely an angel. He wasn't lying to Mary Winchester when he told her he isn't sure if he belongs. He _isn't_. He might have a makeshift home with Sam and Dean, but he can barely be around them without the guilt of what he's put them through eating him alive.

 _No, I should stay away for awhile,_ he muses. _They need to be with their mother._

He knows they need to start over with her. She needs to fall in love with her sons as men now, the way she loved them as infants and Dean, a toddler, and that takes time. He's overjoyed for them, truly. Giving them their mother back is a gift he couldn't have fathomed Amara would give, and he doesn't feel slighted, or morose for giving the Winchester family their time, but he does miss them. He misses _him._ Always.

Perhaps he does feel a little morose.

He swallows the unwanted emotion building in his throat, and picks up the small device, pressing the button, watching the screen come to life with images of lions basking in the African sun, the females tending to their young. Castiel smiles for the second time tonight.

This will do just fine.

He's uncertain how long he’s watched the nature programs, there have been several, when his phone begins to vibrate on the mattress next to him. He blinks, startled slightly and squints at the clock on the nightstand. The glowing red numbers read 3:15 am. Castiel picks up his phone, seeing that the name on the caller ID is Sam. _Most likely calling to see where he is_ , he figures, they didn't seem all together pleased that he was leaving. He may have to spell it out for Sam this time. When he said they were needed there, he meant in every way that they need to build that relationship with their mother.  

“Sam,” Castiel says in short greeting.

“Cas,” Sam's voice is quiet, but Castiel can hear the undertone Sam's trying to mask. Something’s wrong.

_Dean._

His mind immediately registers images he refuses to accept. Maybe they'd gone on a hunt. _Something’s happened to Dean._

“Sam!” Castiel sits up and waves his hand to shut off the TV. “What's happened? Where's Dean?”

“He's here, at the bunker,” Sam's nearly whispering, but Castiel feels like weeping in relief. He's okay.

“Alright …” he waits for Sam to continue but he doesn't. “Sam, tell me what's wrong.”

“I just… I'm sorry to bother you, Cas, but…” Sam pauses again, Castiel waits, then hears a muffled throat clearing, as if Sam has pressed the phone into his palm or chest to mask the sound. “Can you just come home?” his voice is almost hollow now, and there's an unmistakable tremble.  

“Of course,” Castiel doesn't hesitate “I can be there early this evening. What is going on?”

“He… he needs you.”

“I'm on my way.” Castiel walks out the door of the motel room to the truck waiting for him. He doesn't look back.

***

He arrives at the bunker in Lebanon Kansas fifteen hours later, as Dean would say, because he ‘drives like Miss Daisy.’ He catches himself almost knocking before opening the door to his “home” and hesitantly walking in. He isn't exactly sure what he's walking _into,_ after all. He treads down the stairs as quickly and quietly as he can and, after looking around the library, finding it empty, he heads to the kitchen.

This is where he finds the younger Winchester, sitting at the table, both hands wrapped around a coffee cup, staring at an imaginary spot on the table top with a pensive expression.

“Sam?” Castiel says softly. It still makes the over-sized human jump, startled out of what had to have been deep, cogitative thought.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam replies on a heavy breath. His eyes are red-rimmed and glassy, as if he's been crying, or trying not to cry, and Castiel is instantly alarmed.

He quickly walks down the short stairs and pulls out a chair to sit, leaning towards the man he's come to love as a brother. “Sam, I need to know what's happened. Where's Dean?”

Sam sighs again, his eyebrows knitting together and his mouth pressed into a hard line before he wets his lips to speak. “She's gone.”

“What? What do you mean, _‘she's gone’?_ Who's gone?” His brows furrow exponentially. “Mary?” Castiel's stomach drops at the thought, but he waits for the answer he already knows.

Sam nods.

“What happened to her?” Castiel’s own voice is now shaking. If she’s been killed _again_ … when they've just gotten her back… well, it’s unbearable to even think. “Sam?” His voice raises a little.

“She- she decided to leave.” Sam looks at Castiel now, his pensive expression changed to one of pain. Castiel sighs in silent relief, but that relief is quickly replaced by an immense amount of confusion.

“What? Why would she--” Castiel stops himself, because he knows exactly why. He's felt it before… the feeling of not belonging, wondering _where_ you belong, needing to get away from the pain of not knowing and just figure out who you are. But he can't express his thoughts before Sam continues explaining.

“We- we took her on a hunt--”

“You did _what?_ ” Castiel’s voice is still quiet, but accusatory. He instantly feels the remorse from his premature judgment when Sam cringes.

“I didn't want to. But she found the case, and Dean wouldn't listen.” He runs his hands through his long hair and rolls his eyes. “Dean never listens. It was a vengeful ghost and she got possessed--”

 _“Oh my…”_ Castiel doesn't even finish his sentence, instead scrubbing his palm over his forehead and down over his face.

“But we beat it, Cas,” Sam answers quickly, “and she did, she did amazing.” His hands, that had been lifted and animated in his explanation, drop to the table again. “But we got back and she said she misses dad, and she's still mourning us as babies… as we were when she,  w-when she died. And then she just… left.”

Castiel’s insides are a twisted mess of emotion as he bounces from understanding to utter devastation for both of them. “I'm sorry, Sam. I'm so sorry.” Sam nods in acknowledgement, audibly swallowing what Castiel knows are tears wanting to resurface. He reaches both hands over and covers Sam's with his. Sam looks up at him now, his eyes swimming, unable to keep the pain at bay. Castiel contemplates hugging him, but hesitates.

He gets up and does it anyway. Just a side hug as Sam remains seated, but Sam reciprocates, clinging to Castiel like he's a child, and Castiel feels all of it. Every single excruciating emotion. It's almost too much to bear. He lays his cheek on top of Sam's head, and this is how they remain for an unprecedented amount of time.  

“Sam, where's your brother?” Castiel finally lets go of him, stepping back slightly as he speaks.

Another labored sigh. “He's in his room.” The younger hunter looks up at Castiel, worry riddling his features. “He won't talk to me, he won't come out, he's not making a sound in there - I listened for a while. He's been in there since yesterday afternoon, Cas.”

Castiel drops his chin to his chest, sighing himself and placing his hands on his hips. “What makes you think he's going to talk to me?“

Sam just gives him a look. Castiel doesn't even have to try to interpret it. He's knows exactly what Sam is saying, but he still isn't confident Dean will talk to him. Nonetheless, he raises his arms in a makeshift shrug and nods. “I'll try. Of course, I'll try.” _I'll try with everything I have._

***

He doesn't know how long it's been. He doesn't care how long it's been. He just knows he can't be… out there. Where he last saw her. He can't be there. He doesn't want his brain to do this anymore, repeat to him in painfully cruel detail everything she said. The sadness in her eyes. The hurt when he didn't, when he _couldn't_ let her touch him, hug him. He would've fallen apart. He would've begged. He would've clung to her and wouldn't have let her go.

But he knows. Deep down in the recesses of that hunk of muscle he used to call a heart, he knows why she left. Way down there in that cave where he keeps all of those things, those emotions he can't let surface, he _understands_ why she left. But he doesn't wanna do this.

Not again.

Besides the last things she said to him and Sammy before she walked out, the bunker door crashing closed in some kind of twisted finality, his brain has decided it's fucking cool to put him back where it all started. He's four years old, holding his baby brother in his arms and watching his mom burn to death, and he doesn't know what to do other than cling to Sammy. _Yeah_ , he remembers everything about that night. Every gut wrenching detail laid out in front of him like a horror movie. Starring him. And that moment, the moment he lost - essentially - both of his parents, never goes away. Not for him.

If he didn't have people he cared about more than anything in this world, he'd think about putting himself to sleep. But he won't think about that. He'll never think about that. Instead, he'll let his brain torture him as long as it takes. Maybe if he stays in here long enough, she'll be in the library, studying Dad's journal and marveling at modern technology when he decides to come out.

_No she won't._

He can't feel anything. His entire body has gone numb. It's silent in the bunker. Maybe Sam left too. Really, though, could he _be_ a worse older brother? He's certain Sammy's just as upset as he is, but Dean just abandoned him, running off and locking himself in his room like a fucking teenager who got dumped. _Man,_ if he had any energy in him to go get the Hunters Helper and drink himself unconscious.

He's almost got himself worked up to just that. He needs whiskey and pronto. He even stands up on shaky legs, working himself up to taking a step, when he gets the shit scared out of him by a knock on his door. He doesn't answer.

“Dean?” He hears that familiar, gruff voice and his breath leaves him in a rush. That thing in his chest flutters. But he still doesn't answer. “Are you asleep?” Dean lets out a humorless chuckle at that. Only Cas would ask if he was asleep, expecting him to answer _in his sleep._ Something compels him to walk toward the door, and he takes a few steps before he stops himself. What's he gonna do if he lets the angel in? Curl up on his lap and cry like a little fucking baby. No, thank you.

“Dean, I know you're in there, and I know you're not asleep. Please let me in.” Dean's chest starts to swell with emotion again. Suddenly, he can't breathe. He wants to do this, but he just… he can't.

More pleading comes from the other side of the door, his name said in that gruff tone that sends him reeling, and before he realizes it, his hands are pressed against it. His forehead falling lazily on the hardwood.

“Cas,” his voice is hoarse, nearly a whisper. “Please.”

The angel pleads again, this time Dean's name sounding strangled on his lips, and it almost breaks him.

“Please, Cas, I just can't.”

“Let me in, Dean.” There’s a touch of frustration in that one. Good. Maybe the frustration will lead to Dean continuing to stew in his bullshit _feelings._ Alone.

“I _can't.”_

 _“Yes_ you can.” The door knob begins to jiggle.

Dean doesn't reply. Only squeezes his eyes shut, gritting his teeth against the urge to just do it, let in the most maddeningly stubborn goddamn angel on the planet.

“Dean? Dean… _Dean?”_ And finally, “Dean,  I swear on the full power of my grace, I will shred this door. Don't make me.”

He can't argue with that.  Dean swallows down the Texas-sized lump in his throat, unclicks the lock, turns the knob, and opens the door. He can't bring himself to look at the angel, though, so he turns, walking slowly back to his bed as he feels Cas’ presence enter his room. He drops onto the mattress, scrubs his hands over his face, and stares at a blemish on the wall. Dean can feel him getting closer and closer as his body becomes more and more tense.

When he feels Cas’ hand press into and lightly grip his shoulder, he can't fucking handle it. He shoots to his feet, shoving the hand off of him, and puts some distance between them. “No, just…” He holds his hands up. He can't finish.

“Dean.” He can hear the pity, he can feel it, and he doesn't, he doesn't want it.

“No, stop.” Finally he looks at the angel and he knows immediately that it’s a mistake. Cas’ eyes are filled with sorrow, his brow pressed together in concern and something else. Something that makes him want to rush to him, but he doesn't. _“Cas.”_ His voice finally breaks.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Dean. I'm more than sorry, I'm devastated for you.” Cas’ voice reflects his feelings and Dean's wall starts to crumble.

“Don't be.” He can't speak more than a whisper. “Everybody leaves eventually.”

“I'm not leaving,” Cas retorts, taking a step toward Dean. The hunter turns, tearing his eyes away before his wall is completely gone. He'll be too exposed if that happens, too raw. No _fucking_ thank you. “I left before, when you asked me to--”

“And I said I was sorry for that!” Dean cuts in, anger masking the fact that the wall crumbles more. Cas holds up his hand.

“Let me finish, Dean. I left then, but I'm not doing that now. I'm not doing that again.” His voice becomes rushed, as if Dean's going to force him to leave against his will again, and it guts Dean. “Remember when you were consumed by the Mark. You were headed down a road of losing everyone and everything… except _me._ Remember what I told you?” Dean can't do anything but nod. “I said I would watch you murder the world. Did you think I was insincere? Because I'm sorry if you did.”

Dean shakes his head, still not looking at Cas. “That's the problem,” he chokes on his words. “I don't deserve for you to stay.”

Cas closes the distance between them. Dean can feel his body heat enveloping him. That thing formerly known as a heart starts to pound. His breaths punch out rapidly.

“Dean,” Cas whispers. Dean can feel his breath on his face. The wall is nearly gone and he doesn't know what the fuck to do. “If you truly and honestly want me to leave, I will. I won't like it, but I will because, if you haven't figured out by now, I will do _anything_ for you.”

And that's it. With that one word. Dean's wall crumbles to the ground. He's exposed. His chest is wide open, blood and guts, heart and soul, everything laid out for this angel of the goddamn Lord he can't seem to live without. He turns and grabs him, wrapping his arms around Cas’ shoulders so tight, if he was a normal human, he'd probably be crushed. But Cas just holds him back, stroking his hands up and down Dean's back before fisting them in Dean's shirt. Cas just holds him. He holds him as Dean shudders out breath after breath, trying not to sob. There are no words needed for Dean to understand what this means. But then he pulls back, and Cas let's him go. Dean can't go far, though, his body… his _soul,_ at the risk of sounding like a fucking pansy, won't let him.

He finally lets his eyes rake over Cas’ face and what he sees there breaks him. The angel’s eyes are brighter than he's ever seen, other than from the power of his grace, and they're welled with tears. Tears for him. Tears for his pain. Dean wonders how many times he's done this to Cas, and he can't bear to think of it. He feels like such an asshole.

In the boldest move he's ever made, Dean leans into him. The closer he gets to Cas’ face, the faster Dean's chest rises and falls, but Cas never closes his eyes. It's not until Dean presses their foreheads together that Cas’ eyes flutter closed.

“I'm so sorry, Cas, I'm _sorry.”_ His voice cracks on the last one, and a tear escapes. He can't stop it.

“Dean, you have nothing to be sorry for,” the angel soothes.

“I'm s- I'm sorry,” Dean just repeats. Cas reaches up with both hands to cradle Dean's strong, clenched jaw. His thumb brushes away a tear.

“Listen to me, Dean. You have _nothing_ to be sorry for.”

“She… left me, Cas.” Dean's voice suddenly takes on the cadence of a child. He doesn't understand what's happening, but still, he can't stop it.

“I know, Dean, I'm so sorry.”

Dean wraps his arms around the angel’s waist,  his hands fisting, clinging to his trench coat. “She left me. She left me again, Cas, I lost her. I Iost her again. I can't… I…”

“I know Dean, I know. But she's not gone forever. She just needed to be alone for a while.”

Dean nods, jaw clenching tighter, nostrils flaring as the tears flow freely now. Nothing he does is drying it up. But Cas just holds him. He holds him and lets him cry. He holds him and lets his body tremble in his arms. When Dean's knees start to give out, Cas holds him tighter and lifts him up.

“Cas, I need you.” Dean's voice is pleading, his arms pull him closer, an iron-like grip. “Please don't go.”

“It's okay, Dean,” Cas hushes him quietly, his long fingers massaging the nape of Dean's neck. “I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.”

“I need you. I-- please stay, please stay,

Cas.” Dean isn't even sure what's coming out of his mouth, but he knows at this moment, he's incapable of lying.

Cas grips Dean's face strong enough to pull his head back, but gently, forcing Dean to open his eyes. “Dean look at me.” The devastated hunter reluctantly does what he's asked. His bloodshot, marble green eyes staring into the eyes of the angel he won't let go of, irrationally fearing he'll disappear. “I'm staying. I'm not leaving you, ever. Understand?”

Dean nods. He can't do anything but stare into Cas’ eyes until something clicks inside him like a missing puzzle piece snapping itself into place and he realizes. He wants this man/angel, more than he's ever wanted anything in his life.

His eyes dart all over Cas’ face, to his lips, back to his eyes and Dean licks his own. He lets go of his grip on Cas’ coat and reaches up, cupping Cas’ face with both hands, mirroring the way Cas is holding him. He leans in, their eyes locked. When their noses touch, Dean closes his eyes. He nudges the angel’s top lip with his mouth and Cas instantly opens up, pulling Dean's bottom lip between his own.

Dean can't help but moan with the feeling it sends through him. Warmth and fire and goosebumps engulf him. At first the kiss is soft, uncharted territory, a test of sorts. But their mouths fit together perfectly, he realizes. He was made for this angel, and he kisses him harder. Cas doesn't pull back and he doesn't resist. He matches Dean tug for tug, nibble for nibble, and when Dean licks into Cas’ mouth, dragging his tongue across Cas’, the angel gasps and pulls Dean impossibly closer. Dean could do this forever, he _wants_ to do this forever, but he also… _God help him,_ he wants more. He circles his arms around Cas waist, inside the trench coat, and moves them lower until he's palming his ass.

 _“Dean,”_ Cas groans into Dean's mouth and it sends flames licking their way through his body.

Dean walks them backwards until the backs of his knees hit his mattress, and he lets himself fall back, pulling Cas on top of him. He's sure he can't pull Cas much closer but he tries, bucking up into him and moaning embarrassingly because it feels _so… fucking… good._ And yes, _yes,_ he wants this. Letting himself finally acknowledge it is like the weight of the world lifting off his shoulders. And Cas’ weight _on_ him is fucking perfect.

It's obvious Cas isn't reading his mind, though, when he pushes up to search Dean's face contemplatively. “Dean,” he all but whispers. “Are you sure you want this? Now?”

Dean clears his throat, still raw with emotion. “Cas, yes. I want this. I've… honestly never been more sure of anything. I want you now. Right now.” He feels the heat rising in his neck, slightly embarrassed at the brazen nature of his words. Maybe Cas _doesn't_ want this. “But if you don't wa--”

He's cut off abruptly by the angel’s mouth crashing into his, Cas’ teeth tugging on Dean's lip, Dean moaning and bucking up into him because _fuck._

He feels Cas for the first time, all of him, hard and pressed against him, and he's never been more aroused in his entire life. But it's too fast, and he's too wound up. He knows if he doesn't slow it down, he'll never last, so he takes his angel’s face in his hands and pushes back gently, breaking the kiss. Cas’ expression twists into confused concern.

“Dean? Are you alright.”

 _No,_ Dean wants to say, _but I will be. Because of you._

“I'm fine,” he whispers instead, “I'm… good. I just wanna look at you.” He watches as Cas’ brow smoothes, his bright, mesmerizing blue eyes stare back at him in wonderment. Dean reaches up and kisses Cas’ forehead, then his nose, skipping his mouth, he kisses his chin and moves to his jaw and neck. His angel whimpers on his sigh and presses himself into Dean harder.

“Shit,” Dean hisses, “Cas, you can't do that. Not right now.”

“My apologies.” Cas smiles down at Dean almost slyly - well, as sly as the angel can get - and Dean feels himself swell to the point of explosion.

He pulls Cas down and kisses him, long and slow and sensuous. Cas’ arms frame Dean's head as he runs his fingers through the short hair there, massaging his scalp, all while his tongue does amazingly talented things.

They take turns undressing each other. First it's the trench coat, then Dean's flannel. Cas’ fingers work swiftly while Dean feels like he's fumbling with every button, but soon they're both free of every stitch of clothing, staring at each other, both holding back, but just barely.

When Cas makes a move to kiss Dean again, Dean stops him, telling the angel to hold on and stands up next to the bed. He reaches his hand out and, when Cas takes it, he pulls him to his feet and kisses him. Kisses him with everything he has. He puts words he can't say out loud, not right now anyway, into this kiss and he feels Cas’ arms glide around his body.

Blunt nails scrape down his back, wetness seeps onto his belly, and he's gone.

Dean pulls back before he loses it right then and there, ripping the covers back on his bed and scrambling onto the mattress. He turns, facing an almost amused-looking angel, his eyes raking over the body in front of him shamelessly like a hungry animal. He's lost all ability to care how pathetic he probably looks.

“Com’ere, Cas.” His voice is gruff with lust. _And other things he's not thinking about right now._ He pats the mattress next to him.

The angel obliges, sliding onto the bed with much more grace than Dean, and up to him before he can blink. They face each other on their sides, not touching, just staring. They're good at this. The staring. They're always staring.

But it's time for that to stop.  

Dean reaches over as Cas’ eyes linger on his lips. He cups his hand at the base of Cas’ neck and brings him in. They're all lips and tongues and teeth, and when Dean can't take it anymore, he grabs his angel and rolls onto his back, pulling Cas on top of him. They're chests are heaving, and they're staring again. Cas nudges Dean's legs with his knee and slides in between them. Dean gasps, squeezing his eyes shut and biting his lip so hard, he thinks he might draw blood. The sensation is too much. It's overwhelming him. And he's losing control of his emotions. He doesn't understand why, not at the moment anyway, but his ears are ringing, his chest is heaving.

He feels wrecked.

He doesn't hear his name being called, he only feels Cas’ lips. All over his face. His cheeks, his nose, his chin, his jaw. And then he hears it. “Dean… Dean…” Cas’ lips are so close to his ear, goosebumps erupt all over his skin once more. “Dean open your eyes. Look at me, please.” Dean's eyes flutter open. Cas is searching them, a look of almost fear in his. “Are you okay?” Dean can't respond at first, but one more look into liquid blue eyes and Dean's head is suddenly clear. “I need you to be okay, Dean,” Cas continues, voice pleading.

“I was just--” Dean doesn't finish. He can't even describe it. “I'm okay, Cas.”

“Are you sure? We don't have to--” The angel hisses as Dean reaches down to cup his perfect ass, and grinds into him.

There's no more talking when Dean's captures Cas’ lips again. The only sounds are that of their breaths, the sucking of lips against lips, against flesh. Teeth scraping over days old stubble. Moans and hitched breaths, groans as the heat licks its way through Dean's body, a fire smoldering deep in his belly. Sweat beads on his forehead, his temples, as the friction intensifies, their erections gliding together perfectly, deliciously, fucking incredibly.

Dean's so close now, he can't stop himself from reaching between them, boldly fisting them both. Cas’ moan is so deep, it's nearly a growl, and the sound sends Dean on a collision course. He pumps harder, both of them fucking into his hand frantically now.

 _“Cas,”_ Dean gasps. “I'm gonna- I can't- fuck-” Broken sentences are all he can get out at this point. His brain is short-circuiting.

Cas presses his lips just under Dean's earlobe, whispering in his ear, “It's okay, Dean. Let go.” He licks the flesh there, and then sinks his teeth into it.

 _“Fuck,”_ Dean cries as he comes in thick ropes between them. It's more intense than he's ever experienced and he's as spent as a fucking rag doll, but it's Cas’ turn now.

He lets go of his own cock and focuses on Cas, doubling down, fingering the delicate flesh between his ass cheeks. Cas moans Dean's name, thrusting erratically, his face buried in the curve of Dean's neck.

When the angel comes, he bites down on Dean's shoulder, muffling his cries and if Dean hadn't already finished, that right there would've been his undoing.

As it turns out, Angel grace is amazing at cleaning up the mess that sex seems to cause, and Dean finds himself exhausted, drifting in and out as Cas slowly drags his fingers up and down Dean's spine, kissing the top of his head. They're tangled up in limbs now, Dean's head nuzzled under Cas’ neck, and there's not much Dean can think of that's better than this.

“D’you know something,” Dean's words are slurring like he's in a drunken haze. Maybe he is.

“What is it Dean?”

The slow, steady path of Cas’ fingers along his flesh is lulling him, and he drifts off for a moment. He doesn't know of how much time has passed when his thoughts wake him again, but Cas is patiently waiting for him to continue.

“I… when mom left,” he feels the fingertips on his back falter for a second before continuing back to their slow, rhythmic movements. “She told me she loved me. And I couldn't, I couldn't even say it back to her.” There isn't much emotion to his tone, just slow, lazy words.

“I'm sure she knows how much you love her,  Dean,” Cas says softly. “I'm sure she understands how difficult it is for you.”

“I wonder,” Dean continues, realizing this line of conversation may not have been the best idea for his sanity, but as delirious as he is, he doesn't really seem to care. “I wonder if I could say it to you.”

Cas stops his movements completely.

“Would you like to say it to me?” he asks, his tone cautious.

Dean doesn't answer for several seconds. He's drifting in and out of sleep now, so when he does answer, it's barely audible.

“Mmmmmayyyyybe,” he drawls.

“You don't have to, Dean,” Cas soothes. “I understand it's hard for you, too. And I'll be patient for as long as it takes. I hope you know that. You mean so much to me, Dean, do you hear me?

Dean?

Dean?”

All he hears in return is the sound of soft snoring. Castiel leans back, looking down at his hunter and finding his eyes closed, mouth opened slightly, chest rising and falling slowly, steadily. He looks… peaceful, happy. Castiel smiles. He pulls Dean's head back to rest under his chin, kissing the top of it again gently, savoring.

“It's okay, Dean,” he whispers, not for the first time tonight. “I love you too. I always have, and I always will.”

***

~The End~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and Kudos always welcome! <3 <3


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